The Dragon Within
by Jake8291
Summary: This is the story of a boy struggling with himself. Are his abilities a gift, or a curse?


Chapter 1

A boy woke up to the sound of a rooster calling out his morning greeting. His eyes opened fast and he stared at the ceiling, but made no other movements. He took in the sounds and the smells of the room he was in. The sun shined into the room brilliantly. The boy did not know who he was, or where he was. He could not recall anything.

He slowly rose to a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, not quite long enough to touch the floor. He discovered he was dressed in a long shirt that extended just beyond his knees. He jumped out of the bed, a wooden board creaking as he landed on the floor. He glanced around the room trying to see if anything would jog his memory, but after peering around, nothing seemed to do the trick.

There was a mirror across the room, and he stared into it at himself. He had medium blonde hair. He was a scrawny kid, but carried himself very positively. His eyes were a dull shade of red that appeared to look deep into his self.

From outside the room he was in, the boy could hear footsteps approaching. The door across the room opened slowly and a man walked in with a pot of steaming water and a loaf of bread on a small metal tray.

"I see yer awake, boy. Ye hungry?" the man said, taking the food over toward the bed, "brought some bread and water fer ye."

The boy did not respond to the man at first, just simply stared at him. The man appeared to be in his late prime. Not quite old, but starting to show signs of aging, he had spots of gray hair that was thinning out. After a couple seconds of staring, the boy walked over to the bed, sat down, and picked up the loaf of bread.

"Where am I?" the boy said before taking a bite. He had noticed there was a pain in his arms before, but could not localize it to a specific part. After picking up the bread, he realized his fingers had a nasty burning sensation. He did not express the discomfort to the man, but kept it to himself.

"Yer in me house, you's is! Built it meself, I did." The man got up and placed some clothes on a chair at the end of the bed. "I found you in that there field, naked as the day I reckon you was born. Face down, arse side up," he pointed out the window.

"Who am I?" the boy asked, taking another bite of the bread and slowly turning his head toward the open window. His fingers still burned, but he was growing accustomed to the pain.

"Who knows, boy? I just found ye in my field last night. Get dressed. If yer gonna stay here, yer gonna work for it. The sheep outside aren't gonna cut themselves now, are they? I'll leave these here fer ye, come out when yer ready." The man snatched the bread from the boy, tore a small piece off for himself, and handed the rest back before leaving the room.

The boy sat on the bed, staring out the window for a while before getting up. He went over the chair the man put the clothes on earlier. Picking them up, he found they were big on him, but not huge. They fit decently. He walked out of the room.

He noticed the house he was in was slightly bigger than he previously thought, but not overly massive. There was a separate room for what appeared to be the man's bedroom, a living quarter, and a kitchen where pots hung from the ceiling. The place seemed to have a woman's touch about it, but at the same time it felt like there hadn't been one living there for quite some time. He found a door and walked outside.

There were no other buildings to be seen outside the front of the house, just an open field with a dirt path guided by stones leading to a well in the distance. The boy walked around the side of the house, taking in the warmth of the sun and the breeze. The field around the house was planted with wheat, which swayed in the wind in waves. Around the house, there was a small shed with a wooden fence around it. Inside the fence were a couple sheep eating from a trough. The man was at the end of the trough, pouring feed into it.

"'Bout time you got out here, boy! Gelda's first with the sheering," he shouted to the boy, pointing at the one on the end, the biggest. The boy approached closer and did as he was told. The day passed by, the man talking here and there giving instructions, the boy obliging.

When the sheep were sheered, and the pen cleaned, they went back in the house. The man pointed to the table, "Take a seat, making stew tonight. I'll fetch the water." The boy sat down as the man grabbed a bucket and headed outside. The daylight was fading, darkness creeping over the sky. Crickets had started their chirping earlier.

The boy sat at the table for a couple minutes, still trying to come to senses with where he was, and who he was. He could not remember anything. The pain in his hands had subsided, but a lasting numbness soon found its way into them.

Then all of a sudden the crickets stopped chirping. The boy didn't realize it at first, only after the ringing in his ears flooded his head, and throbbed against his skull. He stood up quickly just as a loud roar was bellowed out outside. He rushed to the door, which had been left open. There was still enough sunlight outside the clearly see the fields and the horizon.

Another roar was let loose, and in the distance the boy could see a creature in the sky, flying on two massive wings. The sunlight hit it at just the right angle to make it glow yellow. It was approaching the house, straight on.

The boy did not feel afraid of the beast, but rather a sense of content, of presence. It flew closer, soon above the well in the distance. The old man could be heard shouting obscenities. It was flying just low enough in the air that the boy could make out a tail, four long legs, a long neck with a massive head, and two enormous wings. The body was yellow and covered in glimmering scales. As it passed overhead, the boy noticed a glint of something had fallen from its body, and landed in the field in front of him about twenty yards out. The beast continued on, flying behind the house, not slowing down. It roared once more before fading over the horizon.

The man ran back to the house, still yelling. The boy walked over to the object that had fallen from the sky, curious as to what it was. As he approached, he started to make out what it was. The glint that was prevalent before was now gone, leaving a dull yellowish gold luster. It was oval in shape, coming to a rounded point at one end. The boy reached out for it. A spark shot between the object and the boys hand as he got closer. It did not hurt him, but he backed away nonetheless. Staring at it, he decided to try grabbing it again. This time he was able to touch it and pick it up. It was not heavy, but it was warm.

With the object in hand, the boy walked back to the house which had had its front door slammed by the screaming man. He walked inside to find him cowering in a corner of the kitchen, with a knife in hand.

"It wasn't here to hurt anyone," the boy said, not sure of why he knew this.

"Bollocks! It wanted Gelda, damned beast! Dragons haven't been seen in these parts for centuries, and she's the biggest sheep in leagues! I scared it off, I did. Won't think twice about coming back."

The boy returned to the room he woke in, still holding onto the object. Its warmth had faded, the color fading even further still. He sat down on the bed, and studied it. He heard the man muster up enough courage to go back outside and check on the sheep in the pen.

The boy stared at the object, feeling like it was important to him. He had the urge to press the object against his chest. It seemed to be commanding him to do so. Without thinking twice, he did it. The object got warm again, and he took it away from his chest. Under his fingers, he noticed scratches starting to form. It only appeared for a couple seconds, but it was etched into his mind. He knew not what it meant. Then he was out cold. His body fell onto the bed, the object turning to sand.

The boy had a dream. He was alone in darkness, but could hear a womanly voice in the distance, repeating the same thing over and over again, "Come this way, hatchling." He followed the voice. After getting closer, an image formed from the darkness of a beautiful lady with long flowing blonde hair. The same red eyes as the boy were staring into him, a smile creeping on her face. "Hatchling, it is time."

"Who are you? What is it time for?" The boy asked. His fingers seared in pain and he made a fist that did nothing to ease the pain.

"I am your broodmother, hatchling. It is time for you to journey out and grow into your destiny." The woman had a very sweet tone to her voice, her smile never fading.

"Broodmother? What does that mean?"

"You are born of dragon blood, hatchling."

"Who am I?" The boy was confused. What destiny awaited him? There were many questions he wanted to ask.

"Your given name by your mother was Jaxxarius. Your father's name was Mantour. You will always be known to the brood as Jaxxarius Mantour Aeris Draconum, and must never forget this yourself. You are one of the bronze dragons, a noble brood, dying fast. You are our hope."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Grow into yourself. You have powers not yet unlocked, hidden deep inside yourself. Find them, and make a name for yourself. Show the world the bronze dragons true power." And with that, the woman had disappeared, and the boy was left alone in the darkness again.

He woke up to the man shaking him, knife still in hand. "What are you, boy? Demon?"

The boy's fingers burned more intensely than ever before. Looking down at them, he noticed his fingernails had grown in size, and extending from each fingertip claws had seemed to grow. The man backed away, shouting more obscenities before clamoring out of the room. "You get out of this house, demon! Your kind is not welcome here! Gods, is this what I deserve?"

Fighting the pain in his hands, the boy jumped out the window, and ran. It was pitch black outside, the crickets chirping again. He ran through the field. He ran for what seemed forever. His heart pounding, but feeling an urge to keep going, he went where his legs carried him.

He ran through the country, eventually spotting lights in the distance. He slowed to a walk, and caught his breath. The lights revealed a small village. He feared getting too close, and instead found a tree on the side of a road he stumbled upon. Just out of eyesight of the village, he leaned against the tree and dropped to the ground, passing out cold once again.

This time he did not dream.


End file.
